No Sex please, we're British!

Rightyho. Having (in the words of a kind reader) 'pimped my blog', let's rev up the ride! Now, on the slippery subject of marital sex I'm simply going to cop out and post you an excerpt from my linked, serialised novel ("The pre-credit crunch diary of a private school mum"). Disclaimer: the characters in the novel are fictionalised, so I don't have to worry about my husband reading it! However, they do say you write what you know (or have known): so there you go. Of course, my real name isn't Helen Romeo either...(dun dun dun duhhhhh.....)

"My husband Martin complains that I have too many new clothes, but the fact is that everything IS new to him. By the time he comes back at 10pm I’ve long changed either into track-pants or into pyjamas...the old 50’s adage, dress up for your husband’s return, just wouldn’t work in our house! Last time I’d put on a naughty silk nightie, thinking it might spice up our marriage a bit, was in the new year. Martin was back at work but me and the kids still on holiday...hooray, a chance at last not to feel wiped out at nine thirty pm. So, at ten o’clock at night, I’d arranged myself artistically over the bedclothes, lights turned down a touch, waiting for the door latch to click and the hall lights to turn on. Meanwhile, I thought I’d get back into that John Grisham gathering dust on my bedside table. I was soon engrossed in the latest evidence; never heard my husband return let alone felt him join me in bed - actually, I must’ve conked out, and the book fell off the duvet and crumpled its middle pages on the floor where I discovered it in the morning when I got up, stood on it, and found Martin had already left for work - he never mentioned the sexy get-up, maybe never even registered it... He really wouldn’t know if I’ve put on half a stone or not...my curves are now a foreign land..."